"And then...I turned into a raisin..." (on dreams)

Shoesonwrong, from Twitter.

So I had bad dreams last night. That I was working for a previous boss at my current job and for whatever reason we were hanging out at Marian's apartment instead of the library and there was some Halloween party that I had to orchestrate but I hadn't because I'd been sick and I couldn't stop crying. (In the dream.) I don't think I've ever had a dream where I couldn't stop crying. So I woke up, went to the loo, came back, looked for Max Lucado, couldn't find him, found my Bible, bulging with notebooks I've stuck in as markers. I sighed, looked at my phone, and hit #2 on my speed dial, "MomDad."

They used to be in my phone as "Home," but then I thought, this is my home, this 3rd floor walk up. But I still think of where my parents are as "Home." So Mom answered and I found out that the wedding after the week at the Lake? I'm invited. First I heard. So now I have to decide, in the next three days, before my folks go to visit my brother, Friday. I think I'd like to go because I think it would be a fun wedding. I can't remember the last time I was at a wedding with my sister and she's a fun person to be with. We'll see.

But then my mom had to get off the phone and neither of us were hanging up, it was so silly, and she finally said, "I had a friend and this is what my friend did" and hung up. I'm laughing as I write this.

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I listened in on the TCK phone call yesterday--the woman who was the main "guest" made a movie about Army Brats, but so much of the TCK experience translates, whether you were a MK (Missionary Kid) or a Foreign Service Kid (apparently no abbreviation or nickname for that) or a Brat (Army). Interesting, we often have mild cases of Post Traumatic Disorder and often act like the adult children of alcoholics. So I have a lot of books to go and find now, specifically one by Stephanie Pressman, The Narcissistic Family (which, she said, don't let the title turn you off, but any family where the children's welfare isn't priority #1, like when your job moves you around, has these sort of issues.)

But I'm still smiling from playing "who's going to hang up first" with my mom.

Go hug someone. Even if it's a stuffed animal or a pillow--there are too many people dropping these days. Curmudgeon that he was, I'm sure someone loved Jesse Helms and is sad that "Uncle Jesse" is gone.

(I almost deleted that last paragraph, it sounds stilted, and I don't necessarily want the Senator to be a Google hit for this blog, but it's true, so I'm going to hit Publish anyways.)

xo,

SL

I had a friend and this is what my friend did...

Your thirties are for learning the lessons...

angst, learning your lessons, well, sort of the same thing (see earlier post)

Also "I'm an emotional cutter." (why Carrie looked at the Vogue on Valentine's Day of all days.)

I'm learning, in my late thirties, how to be less of an emotional cutter, less of a drama queen. But life makes it really HARD sometimes. For instance, a few days ago, a seriously cute former crush of mine got married. Far far away. A year ago, I might have worn black for weeks. And then yesterday, a seriously cute former crush showed up at a place I happened to be. And mentioned that he'd just seen Emily. In Queens. Well, I knew she was there, and I had been meaning to email her yesterday but didn't get to it. So I emailed her last night, a little brief hello.

A few months ago, it would have taken me AGES to actually pay attention to the "nudge which wasn't me" and just EMAIL her. Luckily the "nudge which wasn't me" was a MEGAPHONE this weekend.

Then, someone I emailed last week and who never responded, actually asked me, "Did I ever respond?" And I smiled. Nope, you didn't. For once I've figured out again that there are some people I just want to be friends with. (Some people who are also 28.)

All of this was churning around as I went to the Sharp Edge by myself for dinner. (Oh, internets, how I needed to be an introvert: TOO MUCH INPUT.) So I tried to read my book but couldn't. And then this is when I figured out why I packed my Bible in my purse. I journaled a couple verses...and then ordered a Mystery Brew.* Because folks, I needed to be sleepy by the end of dinner or I was going to be up all night trying to strategize my next step.

Yes, I went to see SATC-TM again. Because I forgot that Friday was an emotional day for me and I needed company. I bought a watermelon, offered it to some friends, went on a walk, cried the entire time, and decided I needed A MOVIE. In the middle of the movie, my phone, WHICH RARELY RINGS, sang out the theme to SATC. Fortunately. I turned it off, and when I got out of the movie, I had a date to have watermelon with friends. Who then also offered me dinner.

Life is good.

Oh, did I mention I dreampt that I broke up with Max because I was sick (like with a bad cold), bought an engagement ring, and had a wedding but he wasn't there? My sister called him, he showed up, but we were already technically married even though he hadn't been there for the gorgeous ceremony. It was very very bizarre. I'm sure a mishmash of having seen Carrie drop the cell phone so gorgeously for the third time and the far away wedding and possibly the reentry of cute former crush.

Maybe this time around I can act like a 36 year old, non-drama queen and leave out the emotional cutting. Who knows what might happen next?

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*The Sharp Edge is also where a lot of stuff went down with ALL of the people mentioned in this post, but more importantly for you, a Mystery Brew is a beer that you don't know what it is but it's $3. Since I'm cheap and not a discerning beer drinker, it worked.